Page 83 of A Perfect Disaster

And Helen… well, my straight-laced and wonderful officer walks right beside me. Without hiding from the stares of others. Without moving a single centimeter away from me. Without pretending she isn’t devouring me with those wonderful eyes that, for days now, I’ve officially classified as my undoing. I feel ridiculously happy, she is too, and that simple reality strikes me as so damn extraordinary that I still find it hard to believe I’m not dreaming.

“Come on, Maika, you’re smiling to yourself again, looking like you’ve just eaten a truckload of candy,” Gonzalo remarks, turning around in the middle of the street.

“And you’re still breathing and giving me a hard time, which surprises me even more,” I reply, raising an eyebrow.

“Is there no respect for your elders on this ship?”

“You’ve earned it, you pain in the neck.”

Helen lets out a crystal-clear laugh. And, for a change, I fall a little more in love with her.

The city glows with a spectacular light. All around us, passengers from our own cruise ship mingle with locals heading to the store with their cloth bags. Everything seems so easy, so simple, as if time had frozen and we were trapped in a perfect bubble where contracts, shipping companies, and bosses didn’t exist.

As we cross a street with heavy traffic, Helen takes my hand for a few seconds. I don’t know if she’s aware that this slightest touch almost gives me a heart attack, or if she knows it perfectly well and does it on purpose to throw me off balance. Knowing her, both options make sense to me.

We arrive in the upper part of the city, the historic Castello district, around noon. The imposing ancient walls rise majestically, dominating the entire bay and offering panoramic views of the harbor and our immense ship.

“If I’m not back by four, tell my mom I died immensely happy among the Sardinian stones,” Nico announces, camera in hand.

“Your mom already knows full well that you’re a born geek, Nico; we don’t need to send her postcards,” Lara says with a mocking smile.

“Thanks for the confidence boost,” he says, bowing exaggeratedly.

We end up settling on the terrace of a huge trattoria with spectacular views of the sea. We push three wooden tables together, and the atmosphere is immediately filled with the typical hubbub of the crew when they come ashore. We’ve survived so many maritime disasters together that we just look at each other and understand, which makes this moment feel incredibly precious and unique.

Helen sits right next to me, and Gonzalo, who has a PhD in being a pain in the ass, takes exactly seventeen seconds to throw his jab.

“But hey, look at them,” he says with a grin from ear to ear, pointing at us with his cutlery without the slightest pretense.

“Gonzalo, don’t even think about starting,” Helen warns him.

“Why not? I’m witnessing a high-class corporate romance in its purest form, live and in person,” he insists, slumping back in his chair. “It’s fascinating.”

“Don’t talk nonsense, please,” my girlfriend protests. Then she flashes a more than mischievous smile.

“Nonsense, my foot. In three years, I can see you two perfectly settled in a beautiful house with ocean views, sharing an office, discussing budgets, planning vacations, and organizing your schedules with color-coded calendars,” he concludes, waving his hands as if he were seeing the future in a crystal ball.

I almost spit out the sip of wine I’d just taken.

“Can we change the subject, please?” Helen asks, swirling her wine nervously.

“No,” Gonzalo replies, bursting out laughing.

“Gonzalo…” she warns him, narrowing her eyes.

“No way,” he repeats, thoroughly enjoying himself.

Nico chimes in from the other end of the table, raising his glass mischievously.

“Hey, I second the motion for the house with a view. You two make a magazine-cover couple.”

“And I second that Gonzalo shut his mouth before I smash the focaccia in his face,” adds Lara, tossing him a crumpled napkin.

Laughter erupts at the table like a wave of fresh air. In that moment, surrounded by my people and feeling Helen’s warmth beside me, I allow myself the luxury of believing that this might turn out okay. That the universe, for once in my life, is going to be kind to me and is going to give us a real chance. Because that’s what happens to us when we brush against happiness with our fingertips: we become incorrigible optimists without even realizing it.

Spoiler alert: fate is a son of a bitch, and it’s about to slap me right across the face.

My phone starts to vibrate. I pull it out, look at the touchscreen, and the name that appears freezes my blood in an instant: Residencia Santa Catalina. My stomach clenches into a fist automatically. Something’s wrong. Very wrong. I know it before I swipe my finger across the screen to answer.